The mighty have fallen
by Honeyxbee
Summary: The power struggles of two nations that are often at each others throat. The Frenchmen is much to blame? Or is it the pompous Briton getting in his way of world domination. Whatever the answer should be, all I know is "The mighty have fallen". Warning beforehand if you don't like violence or lemons please don't read!


_Hope you like it guys, if you do please leave a review. It's greatly appreciated, enjoy the story ^.^_

He falls onto the ground defeated once again, his long light blonde hair covering most of his darkened and bruised features. He almost curses the day that meddlesome man ever rued to mess with the French militia prowess, all he wanted was to rule and dominate the world.. How hard could that be?

But the dirty proud blonde had interfered too much this past year. The triumphant smirk that apparently crept onto his otherwise dull features and overly thick eyebrows raised slightly, stands with his gun lowered. He has finally won him. It still did not defeat the Frenchmen's spirit, he had other plans.

He weakly stood up and raised his gun, the Brit acted quickly and disarmed him by knocking the wind out of the Frenchmen's chest with one strong swoop for the gun, knocking the other to the ground swiftly. He relaxed his features; smoothing over his dirty blonde scruffy looking hair.

He had always that calm composure that seemed to agitate the Frenchmen, "now stay down, that's a good chap" the Brit looked over the French with distaste, he had always hated his charm and cockiness. He had to be put in his place, for King and country, of course.

"You're lucky, I'm not going to take you this time.. but let this be a warning to you frog" he looks away and seems to stroll at a gentle pace in the opposite direction, leaving him to deal with the English pigs who have circled and seized their prize, if only the pesky humans knew who he was... Or maybe not. I was relieved he didn't want to consummate his victory, he hadn't for awhile but every time he did; it had hurt him not only physically but a little piece of him died with the dreadful act.

But it's not like a surprising concept, the victorious country would usually use the countries losing body in anyway that pleased them, the Frenchmen had done it many times and had grown successful colonies along side the Briton but it was not mutual, the British had claimed more land than the Frenchmen and that's why he had to stop him for taking everything from him.

A few months after France had seemingly had a great success after the so many strings of defeat he had faced in front of the Briton, oh how he would dream of it often, no, nearly every night to wipe that condescending smirk of his stupid face.

He had him now, that precious Washington of his. The famous bastard general that was very successful at destroying French strategies has now been captured by them, this was too sweet of a victory for Francis Bonnefoy.

He would use him it to blackmail that idiot and he would finally get his way with him. After all he did deserve it for all the trouble he had caused to him, the wretched brat.

At the day of the battle the Frenchmen was overwhelmed, the Prussian had an immense amount of soldiers and easily out flanked Francis with a complex intricate web of strategy. After being annihilated, the annoying idiot had to appear in front of him. To taunt him, it had made him angry. Arthur had a scowl etched into his features as he confronted the defeated Frenchmen.

"I (h)'ate you" he screeched, the Briton took a deep breathe and then roughly ragged his long girlish hair and drew his face close to the Frenchmen. His usual calm voice was replaced with venom, he whispered vehemently "you have no more chances, love".

The Briton had dragged him all the way to the other side of the muddy field unceremoniously in front of the French battalion! The undignified brute had dragged and thrown the weak Frenchmen into the dog tent. A small tent fit for a dog, that's what the soldiers had thought and it was true. It was so small, maybe even that was an understatement.

The Briton growls, "how dare you frog, I told you, you would lose. Correction you have lost" he talks condescendingly to him, now there was that infamous smirk. Francis had tried to get off his vulnerable position on his back, pinned by the strong lean English pig. He smiled and bites onto his ear roughly drew only a small amount of blood, Francis shudders and squirms even harder as he tried not to cry out.

Arthur licks up his neck, he hasn't had the blasted frog in a while, and he was feeling particularly horrible...


End file.
